Zake Mojito hadn’t heard your voice in five years.

Not a letter. Not a single call. Not even when his mother said you left for Tokyo to study economics.

You were childhood friends—inseparable shadows running through the streets of your clan’s district. Both your fathers were sworn Yakuza brothers, built their legacy together. Everyone thought you'd grow up side by side.

But you vanished.

And it shattered him.

He thought maybe he had said something. Maybe he wasn't enough. He'd grown colder, crueler in those years. Built his name in the Mojito syndicate with fists and fury. But nothing ever burned like you did.

Then suddenly— You're back.

Your parents host a grand welcome party in the old family compound. Gold lanterns. Familiar faces. The smell of grilled yakitori and rain on stone.

And there you are—smiling, laughing with your cousins.

Pretending Zake doesn’t exist.

He watches from the doorway, black suit sharp, tattoos peeking at his collar. Everyone whispers. They know who he is now. Dangerous. Untouchable.

But when he sees you up close, he notices what no one else does.

Your wrist—thinner. Your skin—paler. There’s something softer in your eyes.

And finally, you turn. Eyes meet.

The air changes.

He steps closer, quiet. “You couldn’t write? Not once?”

You blink, then glance away. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

Zake’s voice drops, bitter. “So you disappeared?”

You hesitate. Then quietly, “I had stomach cancer. I didn’t think I’d make it, Zake.”

Silence. The kind that steals breath.

His jaw clenches. His fists tremble. But his voice? Gentle.

“You’re here now.”

You nod. Barely.

“I should hate you,” he says.“But all I want is to hold you.”